Bad News Bears
by KH Blaze
Summary: Bobby enlists the Winchesters to help a fellow hunter in New Mexico.
1. One

_Disclaimer: This is a work of Fan Fiction. The Winchesters, Bobby Singer and any other canon characters mentioned are the intellectual property of Eric Kripke, Warner Bros and Wonderland Sound and Vision. All others are owned by myself and of my own creation. I do not profit from their use._

_Author's note: This story is set between series episodes 3.2 and 3.3._

October 2007

Farmington, New Mexico

Lydia smiled to herself as she listened to her husband in his voicemail message.

_"Hey babe. My flight landed safe and sound. Just waiting at baggage claim now. I'll be home in no time, probably to find you with your nose in a book, a glass of merlot sitting next to you. I love you."_

When she rolled her eyes they landed on the already open bottle of wine on the counter. She briefly considered leaving her glass empty until Aaron arrived, just to challenge how well he truly knew her. Thunder rumbled in the distance and she was reminded she was in for a long night.

She and Aaron lived on twenty-five acres in the hills outside of town. Thanks to Aaron's talent and success in developing real estate, she was able to live her childhood dream of owning horses. Admittedly, only two of the six she housed were hers, the other four were boarders.

As Lydia gave into temptation and sauntered to the cabinet to retrieve her wine glass, movement outside the kitchen window caught her eye. Light blinked out from the depths of the barn as the oversized door swayed in the growing winds.

A frown creased Lydia's forehead. She was certain she'd latched it after the evening routine of feeding and watering the horses. In fact, with the coming storm she'd double checked everything.

Exchanging her wine glass for her jacket, she hustled towards the barn. The breeze carried the sounds of six very agitated steeds, urging Lydia to quicken her pace.

Not seeing whatever was amiss at first glance, she crossed the threshold and closed the massive door behind her to prevent the horses further agitation from its slamming in the growing winds.

Lydia's own mare, Prickly Perdita, spun nervous circles in the first stall. Giving her best effort to make soothing, hushing and cooing sounds, Lydia attempted to beckon Purdy (as she called her) towards her. But something had her and the other horses well and truly spooked.

Lydia received a fright of her own when the slamming of the stable's opposite doors matched the thunder rolling in the sky.

_What the hell?! I'm going to throttle whoever left both sides unlatched!_

Her fear shifted to anger as she turned towards the backdoors—and right back to fear as she witnessed what lumbered in.

It was the largest black bear Lydia had ever seen.

Lydia clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream, though the reflex merely stifled a piteous wheeze.

The lights overhead flickered and briefly went out. In those few seconds, the bear had taken several steps closer. Lydia panicked. Instead of going back the way she'd entered, she bolted for the supply closet. There was no lock, but the door did latch. Slamming it closed, Lydia shoved shaking hands into her jacket, only to realize her cellphone was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

She held her breath as she heard the approaching grunting and scratching, mixing in with the cacophony of the horses and swelling storm.

Grabbing a nearby rake as a weapon, Lydia sank down tightly into the corner. She prayed the bear would simply lose interest or that the horses carrying on would frighten it away.

_There are far better places than here to wait out this storm. _She silently rationalized, willing the bear to agree as it's shadow darkened the narrow space under the closet door.

Her heart pounded in her chest, matching the thunder outside. A bear didn't have the dexterity to turn a doorknob, but if it was determined, it could rip into the door in no time at all. There wasn't any food in here—except maybe herself.

The lights flickered again. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, began to pray more fervently…and just as suddenly as the bear had seemed to appear, the barn was quiet. The horses barely stirred and even the storm seemed to have briskly moved on.

Taking in a tentative lung full of air, Lydia listened hard for any sign the bear was still inside the stables. It's shadow no longer appeared under the door, encouraging her to release her iron grip on the rake. After another moment passed without incident, Lydia set the rake down softly and on hands and knees, leaned an ear towards the door to listen harder still.

The supply closet door flung open.

Lydia's shriek was cut short as something struck her and dragged her, dazed, out of her hiding place. Her vision was blurred as she tried to gather her faculties to fight back. All she could see as she kicked and swung aimlessly from the floor, was a huge black mass. Until she recognized the lethal set of claws glinting in the overhead lighting.

By that moment, it was too late.

Yellow eyes glowed into hers and she was paralyzed.

The last thing Lydia Newcastle saw before everything faded to black was the red of her own blood.

**SUPERNATURAL**

**_"Bad News Bears"_**

Chicago, Illinois

Dean's eyes scanned the motel room as he returned from loading up the Impala, not immediately finding his brother. Concluding Sam was in the bathroom, Dean called out.

"Sammy? You ready to hit the road?"

"Yeah!" Came Sam's muffled reply. "One sec."

Something about Chicago got under Dean's skin. It was like a dull, nagging ache at the base of his neck, as if there was something he and Sam would usually hunt down, watching them from every shadow. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, when they weren't here on a case. They were just passing through on their way back to the salvage yard.

His brother emerged from the bathroom, distracting Dean from his paranoia.

"Wash your hands?"

Sam responded with a withering look.

"Great, let's go." Dean's hand was on the doorknob but paused and turned back when a trill sound reached his ear.

Sam retrieved his phone from his pocket as it rang a second time. A thoughtful frown creased his face briefly when he read the caller ID, and by the third ring, Sam answered.

"Bobby, hey. I'll put you on speaker."

"Bobby." Dean greeted jovially as Sam held the phone out between them. "The Indiana case is in the rearview and we're just about to leave Chicago. Want us to bring you a deep-dish?"

_"I'm not in Sioux Falls."_ Bobby replied gruffly._ "I need you two idjits to meet me in Lincoln."_

"Lincoln? What's in Nebraska?"

_"Nothing this time. It's just the fastest route to Farmington."_

Sam and Dean exchanged confused looks.

"Bobby, what—?"

_"I'll explain what I can when we meet up."_ Bobby interrupted curtly and ended the call.

~~~~

Bobby told them little else in Nebraska. Only muttered that a fellow hunter caught a case in New Mexico that needed a few extra hands, and to have their FBI badges ready.

A couple hours before dusk, Dean was steering Baby behind Bobby's Chevelle down a private roadway, stopping several feet away from crime scene tape and Sheriff's Department SUVs.

The trio absorbed the situation in front of them as they approached the yellow plastic lightly flapping in the breeze. The ground was still damp from the previous night's storm. Forensic scientists milled around both inside and out of what, from the whinnying, sounded like a horse barn. Several deputies were paired off having separate discussions, but the moment Dean reached for the police tape to duck under, one officer noticed the three men and broke away at a brisk jog to stop them.

"Hold it right there, mister! Do you not understand this is a crime scene?"

Dean took a step back and offered the cop one of his patented smiles. "Oh yes sir, Deputy—" Dean glanced at his name tag. "Buckley. That's why we're here."

Buckley scowled at them, puffed out his chest. "That so?"

Bobby stepped up and flashed his phoney badge. "S.A.I.C. Manzarek. These are my subordinates, Agent Krieger, Agent Densmore." Sam and Dean took their cue to flash their own badges. "We've been assigned to this investigation."

The deputy's scowl remained. "What in the hell could some G-men want to investigate about a damned bear attack?"

_Bear attack?_

Now Dean wondered the same, but Sam cleared his throat to draw Buckley's attention.

"Are you familiar with the practice of vanity hunts, Deputy Buckley?"

Buckley sputtered and Sam continued. "Also known as Canned Hunts. Trapping a wild animal in a small, enclosed area so a rich yuppie has a guaranteed trophy."

Buckley blinked heavily. "Well I—uh…"

Bobby picked up the con. "We've traced a group of poachers to New Mexico and now we believe your bear is the last piece of evidence in their conviction."

"It's not _my_ bear—I mean to say—it's not even here—"

"Deputy Buckley!"

All four men looked in the direction from which a woman's voice shouted, finding a female officer striding up to them.

As Sam braced for further scrutiny, he latently sized her up. If Sam had to guess, he would say she was around the same age as his brother or himself. She stood at somewhere around 5'10", seemed appropriately physically fit for her job. Her hair was a rich, natural red of undetermined length, as it was tied back in a severe knot. Her pale blue eyes focused sharply on each of them in turn, resting lastly on Deputy Buckley.

"That'll be all, Deputy. I will assist the agents from here."

She lifted the yellow tape, waving Bobby and the brothers through, to which they quickly complied.

"Undersheriff,"

Sam noticed how Buckley voiced the title with some bitterness.

"I was just explaining to these agents—"

"Thank you, Deputy Buckley." The Undersheriff returned his snideness in spades. "Deputy Lawson could use your help on the west-facing side of the barn. We're losing daylight."

Buckley wisely withheld further comment and left after a curt nod.

Her full attention now on the three hunters, the Undersheriff addressed Sam first.

"Canned hunts, you say? That was some quick thinking, Stretch! Guess that makes you the college nerd."

Dean couldn't hold back his laugh, which drew the Undersheriff's icy gaze to him. "Which would make you the dumb jock. Tell me, did you slap together those fake badges during arts and crafts time?"

Both Sam and Dean went still.

"F-fake?" Dean stammered. "That's ridiculous—"

The Undersheriff stepped into Dean's personal space. "I could have the three of you on the way to county before dinner. Do you really want to make things worse for yourselves by lying to my face?"

~~~~


	2. Two

Dean swallowed a nervous laugh. Until about thirty seconds ago, he'd been imagining the Undersheriff binding him in handcuffs in a very different scenario. Yeah, she was that hot. He realized the Undersheriff was repeating her question and gave his head a slight shake. "No?"

After an uncomfortable silence, Bobby shifted on his feet. Sam glanced at the older hunter and found him grinning.

"Stop toying with them, Izzy, you'll give them a complex."

Chuckling, the Undersheriff stepped back.

Sam's shoulders relaxed as he smiled sheepishly.

Dean's expression switched from nervous to annoyed in one eye-roll. "Really, Bobby?"

"Awe now, it's not Singer's fault. He's just fun enough to play along." She winked at Dean and held out her hand. "Isolde Faraday. But as Bobby said, call me Izzy."

Dean shook Izzy's hand somewhat reluctantly.

"You're a hunter?" Sam queried as he shook her hand next.

"Part-time, you could say." Izzy replied, gesturing to her uniform. "I don't often stray too far outside of the county. Which is why I usually call Bobby here if I catch wind of something." She patted Bobby's shoulder in greeting, as a hug in view of the deputies would appear odd.

"Why don't you fill these boys in on what that something is this time." Bobby drawled.

Izzy nodded and went into cop mode. "Aaron Newcastle came home last night to find his wife, Lydia, mauled to death in the stables. It appears to have been a black bear."

"But you found something that tells you otherwise?" Sam figured.

"A few things. For one, there are no signs of the bear digging or clawing it's way into the barn. Aaron insists the outer doors are kept securely latched unless someone is working with the horses and they only work them during regular daytime hours. Even if he or Lydia were taking one of their horses out for a late ride, they would always secure the doors before leaving and upon returning. But there was a storm last night. Lydia wouldn't have risked a ride." Izzy removed an evidence bag from her back pocket, handing it to Sam.

He frowned. "A mirror?" It was the pocket sized kind you'd find in a cosmetic compact, and it was strung to a large strip of leather like a necklace.

"Forensics found it outside the opposite doors of the stables. Aaron didn't recognize it."

"It's a little weird, but nothing I'm hearing so far screams 'monster'." Dean argued.

"Wait til I clear out CSI from the barn, then you'll see." Izzy promised.

"I'd like to talk to the husband." Sam chimed in. "Is he still here?"

Izzy nodded. "Hasn't left the house since the M.E. took Lydia away." Her expression saddened. "I've kept a deputy with him, checked on him. He's still in shock."

Fortunately it didn't take much longer for the scientists to wrap up and clear out. Most of the remaining deputies, except for Buckley and another named Harris, made their exit as well.

So while Izzy led Sam up to the house to speak to Aaron Newcastle, Dean and Bobby entered the stables.

The horses, unsurprisingly, were still uneasy. Bobby systematically moved from stall to stall, looking in at each horse, while Dean studied the bloody tableau. Swipes and smudges on the edges of a larger pool, spoke of the activity after the discovery of Lydia's body. A path of massive paw prints leading out the opposite doors relayed the beast's escape route.

"None of these horses have a scratch on them." Bobby eventually remarked. "Whatever did this had no interest in them."

Dean circled around the large stain and crouched down near the open door of the storage closet. Compelled, he touched a finger to the center of the blood pool. While the outer edges had dried, here it was still tacky. Dean could also distinguish gouges, made by large claws, embedded in the wooden floor.

"I think this started in there, then she was dragged out here." Dean said, thinking it through out loud. "It's not a full moon for another two weeks—"

"Even so, Izzy would know to check for a missing heart." Bobby interrupted, dismissing the idea of a werewolf.

Dean nodded absently, now focused on the door of the storeroom. He examined both sides. "No claw marks on the door, and it doesn't lock from the inside. So either she never got it closed…"

"Or she thought it was safe to open it." Bobby finished.

Dean had a third possibility. "Or something opened it for her."

As Dean's eyes moved back down to the floor, he spotted a patch of blood peaking out from under the overturned water pail resting next to him.

Carefully, Dean lifted the pail. "Check this out."

Bobby stepped closer to look over Dean's shoulder. Under the pail hid a bloody footprint. A human footprint. It looked too large to belong to a woman, and even so, no one with half a brain would intentionally walk around horses in bare feet. This print didn't belong to Lydia Newcastle.

"I think this was the 'weird' Izzy wanted us to see." Dean surmised.

Bobby's thick brow furrowed as he puzzled over the clues. "Shapeshifter you think?"

"Any we've come across only shifted into other people." Dean countered, returning the pail to how he found it.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Bobby and Dean went quiet. Dean rose to his full height and turned as deputies Buckley and Harris reached them.

"You agents done interrogating the 'witnesses' yet?" Buckley snickered.

Douchebag. Dean thought. It was clear to him earlier, Buckley had issue with taking orders from Izzy. Might have been the jackass didn't care to take orders from anyone. Outwardly, Dean kept his cool, plastering a polite smile on his face as he ignored the acidic wisecrack.

Deputy Harris, who seemed fully abashed by his fellow officer's lack of respect for the FBI presence, tried to redirect the dialogue. "At first light we had the K-9 unit follow the bear's scent." He indicated the paw prints. "Tracked it eight miles west, straight into Ojo Amarillo Canyon."

Both deputies looked at Dean and Bobby expectantly, but neither hunter got the punchline.

"And?" Dean prodded.

"That's Navajo Nation territory." Buckley stated, as if it should have been obvious. "That bear's their problem now."

"He means to say," Harris interjected. "We try not to make waves with the tribal police. The Sheriff wants us to make an effort to quote 'ask permission, not forgiveness'."

"So ain't anyone asked yet?" Bobby's natural gruffness peeked through the shell of senior agent.

Buckley shrugged. "That's up to Undersheriff Faraday, and apparently, she was waiting for the three of you to show up."

Dean and Bobby exchanged glances. It was clear to them Izzy was doing her best to keep a potential monster off the unaware Sherriff Department's radar.

"Alright then, show us where the bear crossed over." Dean more or less ordered. "If Tribal Police show up, we'll play nice."

~~~~

After dismissing the final deputy she'd posted at the Newcastle's front door, Izzy and Sam found the bereft husband seated in the living room, drowning his sorrows in bourbon.

"Aaron, this is Special Agent Krieger." Izzy gestured her thumb in Sam's direction. "I know we've already taken your statement, but he'd like to go over everything again, if that's alright?"

Aaron polished off the dark amber liquid in his tumbler before lifting a bleary gaze at them. "Fine. I don't see what difference it'll make, but whatever."

Sam offered the man his best sympathetic expression, something Dean always equated with a 'sad puppy', and sat in a chair facing him, getting a small pad of paper and a pen ready. "Thank you."

Just as Sam was ready to begin, Izzy reacted to her cellphone buzzing in her pocket. Whatever name she read on the display prompted her to murmur her need to answer and she swiftly exited out the front door, trusting Sam would compare notes afterwards.

As he often did in reaction to awkwardness, Sam cleared his throat, then returned to the matter at hand. "So, you were not home when Lydia was attacked?"

Aaron sighed heavily, already fighting back another round of tears. "No, I was away on business in Phoenix. It was around eight when I got home last night."

"Did you know something was wrong right away?"

Something made Aaron grin briefly. "Lydia has her routines. After dinner it's a glass or two of red and whatever book she's engrossed in." Aaron turned his head to the empty spot next to himself on the sofa. "She wasn't here when I got home, but then I figured, with the storm, she must have gone out to the barn to check on the horses." He laughed bitterly. "They were still upset when I arrived, even though the worst of it had already blown over. It never occurred to me…"

Aaron couldn't finish the words and Sam understood.

"When you…found her, did you notice anything strange?"

Aaron's head jerked up, his face gaping at Sam, mortified. "Stranger than my wife's mutilated body?!"

Sam looked apologetic but pressed on. "Any odd sounds? Strange smells that shouldn't have been there, sulphur for example? Were the lights flickering?"

Aaron shook his head, so Sam tried a different avenue. "Mr. Newcastle, you are a real estate developer, correct? Have you had any contracts go poorly? Can you think of any reason someone might wish harm on you or your wife?"

Again, Aaron shook his head. "No one could help but love Lydia. She was kind to everybody." Another small smile spread over his lips at the memories, his eyes fading out and back into focus. "As to how I conduct my business, Agent Krieger, one doesn't know they've reached a fair deal until neither party is completely happy."

"Sure." Nothing left to ask, Sam stood. "If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to contact us." Sam pulled out a fake federal contact card listing his real cell number and handed it to Aaron. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

"I don't suppose I'm entitled to that animal's head stuffed and mounted, am I?" Aaron muttered.

"Would you really want it, if you were?"

~~~~

The daylight was quickly disappearing back outside. Izzy and Sam strode side by side towards the stables as they debated the monster of the week.

"There doesn't seem to be any of the usual signs of either a ghost or a demon." Sam admitted as they entered the barn and quickly realized Bobby, Dean and both remaining deputies were gone.

"They must have gone out to the Canyon." Izzy explained, and went on to fill Sam in on everything she expected Bobby and Dean had found here. Then she remembered, "Oh, that phone call, it was our Medical Examiner with her report on Lydia Newcastle. She doesn't exactly know about the things that go bump in the night, but she knows to bring anything weird straight to me, and to wait before putting anything on the official record."

"She found something weird?"

Izzy nodded. "Hairs in the wound tracts definitively belonged to a black bear, and it was definitely the claws and teeth matching those of a bear that killed her. But Lydia had peri-mortem bruises that match a human fist. Somebody beat her down, right before the bear had it's turn."

Sam's forehead creased in thought. "You think it's possible someone is controlling a bear somehow?"

It didn't quite make sense to Izzy. "If there was a person and a bear here, then why did we only find one human footprint? The bear's are the only ones leading in or out of here…" As her voice trailed off, Izzy went still.

Sam gave her a curious look. "What?"

"Sonofabitch." It came out right before Izzy's mouth curled into a smirk. She looked at Sam excitedly. "Ojo Amarillo Canyon, I don't know why I didn't remember it sooner. The Navajo also call it _Skinwalker_ Canyon.

~~~~


	3. Three

Having to leave their vehicles about half a mile back, on foot the quartet of hunters and deputies crossed the borderline at the edge of the canyon, where they were met with the approach of two Navajo men. One wore long hair in a single braid and a green flannel jacket, the other's hair was a tight buzzcut, and he wore a dusty denim coat.

Harris' demeanour remained open as he offered a slow, wide-sweeping, friendly wave. Buckley was open as well—with his distain.

Dean and Bobby kept their posture and facial expressions neutral, eyes following every move the strangers made. The newcomers each had a rifle strung across their backs, so they were either on the hunt or ready for a fight. Possibly both.

"_Ya'at'ehh_. Wrangling stray hikers again, Harris?" This from the man wearing green as he jutted his chin at Dean and Bobby.

Harris smiled and shook his head. "These folks are FBI. Have you heard what happened at the Newcastle ranch last night?"

Understanding, the man looked Bobby and Dean over again. After a moment he offered his hand. "Dayton Clearwater."

Dean and Bobby both shook his hand, offering him their real first and fake last names.

Clearwater's friend in denim introduced himself simply as Marcus before interjecting. "You're some ways off the ranch now."

"You fellas haven't happened to come across a black bear by any chance?" Bobby inquired.

The Navajo looked to each other before replying. "Not as of yet."

"But if we do, it'd be on Treaty land. We prefer to handle our own jurisdiction."

"You mean, keep the trophy for yourselves." Buckley, whom everyone had been actively ignoring, had obviously had enough of the silent treatment.

"Look," Dean cut in before anyone else could clap back. "We're not trying to pull rank here. We understand the Undersheriff usually talks things out first—"

_"Harris, you copy?"_

Either Izzy's ears were burning or she had impeccable timing.

_"Harris? Buckley?" _Izzy's voice crackled over the deputies' radios again._ "Anybody copy?"_

Harris reached for his two-way, but when he pressed down to speak, Clearwater shouted out first. "That you, Faraday?"

There was a pause, then,_ "Clearwater?"_

Harris jumped in. "Yeah, Undersheriff. Dayton and Marcus met us at the canyon. We were just discussing…cooperation."

After another pause, Izzy started speaking what Dean could only assume was Navajo Diné, and when Harris surrendered his speaker to the Navajo man, she and Clearwater went back and forth that way over Harris' radio for a few minutes.

"You getting any of this?" Dean whispered to Bobby.

Bobby shrugged and whispered back, "Maybe every third word."

Clearwater handed Harris the speaker back and Izzy returned to english when the conversation was apparently over._ "Alright Harris, Buckley, I can't speak for the agents but the county can't afford your overtime tonight. Head home and we'll start fresh in the am."_

Both deputies looked offended, and Dean imagined it was for two completely different reasons.

"You heard the Undersheriff," Bobby prodded. "It's quittin' time!"

"Don't you worry about us," Dean added with a hundred-watt smile. "We can take care of ourselves."

Begrudgingly, the deputies marched away, leaving four others to decide their next move.

"I take it you and Izzy came to an understanding in that little exchange?" Bobby surmised.

Clearwater turned towards the setting sun for a moment before turning back, making a choice.

"There's something you should see."

~~~~

Dayton and Marcus readied their rifles and presented flashlights as night fell. Dean and Bobby followed suit with their .45's. Having veered away from the well worn trail they'd followed up to this point, the Navajo men would stop periodically to aim their lights at spots on the ground that bore the suspect bear's prints. Dean noted the direction of the prints went both towards and away from the Newcastle ranch. As the hills made way for a wall of caverns, they were in all likelihood headed towards the bear's hovel.

"I'll just breeze past how you two clearly aren't FBI and ask how long you've known Izzy." Dayton opened wryly.

"Just met." Dean muttered as he began to wonder if all his fake IDs needed an upgrade.

"Knew her father some years back, and grandparents by reputation. Didn't know Izzy had taken up hunting until a few years ago." Bobby recounted. "You two in the habit of chasing monsters?"

Marcus laughed. "We don't have a death wish."

"My cousin and I know enough to keep our community safe." Dayton elaborated. "We know enough to know it isn't really a bear you find yourselves hunting."

"So what is it?" Dean asked.

Dayton beckoned Dean and Bobby to follow him into the mouth of one of the caves while Marcus stood sentry a few feet away.

All three men had to bend awkwardly low to avoid striking their heads against the cave ceiling. Once inside, Dayton rested his flashlight beam at what remained after a small bonfire. There were also a few atypical items scattered around it, namely a crow's feather, the skull of a small rodent—possibly a rabbit, and an empty shotgun shell. Dean's skin crawled. He knew before anyone said anything further what they were dealing with. He holstered his gun in favour of his cellphone to take photos of the scene for Sam. Dayton panned his light to the cave walls, stopping at a spot where they could see three distinct burn marks. When Dean got closer for a better photo, he noticed a fourth mark, a bullet hole. He reached for it to gauge the depth. There was only one small indentation so it hadn't been made by a shotgun like the shell they'd just found. It was more likely a .22 caliber.

"That, is so it knows the way." Dayton explained.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "The way?"

Dayton moved the light again, pointing it this time further into the cavern. At some point in this formations history, a very large stalactite had broken away from the ceiling and dropped down to end up leaning angled between the wall and a stalagmite, leaving a crude archway-like space underneath.

"Their kind believe spaces like those to be doorways."

"Just so we're clear, we are all on the same page about what we're dealing with here, right?" Bobby queried.

"'Ánti'įhnii." Dayton murmured the same time Dean nodded, thinking sourly, _God I hate witches_. He took a few more photos before the three made their way back out to the waiting Marcus.

"So what happened, this he-witch summoned some kind of demon, to possess a bear, to kill a woman?" It seemed a little excessive to Dean.

Dayton chuckled, shaking his head. "Not a demon. Yee naaldlooshii."

"A Skinwalker?" Bobby translated. "You mean this warlock is changing into the bear himself?"

Marcus hissed something in Diné to Dayton. Though Dean didn't understand it, by the tone it was clearly a warning.

"My cousin points out that it's not safe for us to even speak of this." Dayton relayed somewhat apologetically. "The two of you should return to town. The Canyon is their territory."

Dean stood his ground, defiant and frankly still a little confused. "You expect us to just walk away? Maybe to let this guy kill again? What if he decides to come after one of you?"

Marcus was glib in his response. "Talk to the Undersheriff. We'll take care of our own."

~~~~

Armed with enough information to start his research, Sam asked Isolde if she could drive him to a decent motel.

Izzy had scoffed at the request. "Nonsense. You three are staying at Casa Faraday!"

A short time later, Izzy ushered the younger Winchester across the threshold. Sam scanned and catalogued everything in his purview. Directly in front of them was the staircase leading to the second floor. As Izzy closed the front door behind them, Sam noted a deliberate pattern of picture frames and coat hooks adorned both abbreviated dividing walls. To the left, the space opened into a living room that appeared cozy and well lived in. On the right, a dining room stood just the opposite. Unused for its intended purpose for who knew how long, piles of both opened and unopened mail lay scattered across the tabletop. A vase on the table's center held flowers long dead and dried out, petals and deadheads fallen after stems became too brittle to hold them up. Several of the six chairs encircling the round table were covered by varying articles of laundry. Clearly the Undersheriff had not been expecting to be hosting company the last time she stepped out, but her demeanour now as she led Sam further into the living room, told Sam she wasn't apologetic about the state of things either. This was the way of it and they would all just adapt.

"I only have one guest room upstairs, and Bobby has dibs." Izzy relayed. "So you and Dean will have to decide between yourselves who gets either the sofa or the recliner."

"The couch looks great." Sam declared automatically.

He studied the large kelly green sectional arranged across from the brown leather recliner. Oh yeah, he may still have to go through the motions of a game of "Rock, Paper, Scissors" with his brother, but the sofa was most definitely the right choice for his six feet, four inches. And Sam knew, even though Dean was only three inches shorter—so his feet were sure to hang precariously over the edge—his big brother would act as though getting the chair was the better bargain.

Izzy's laughter jolted Sam out of the thought. He met her eyes, abashed.

"What?"

"I can see your wheels turning, is all." She teased.

Sam expelled an embarrassed chuckle and averted his gaze, taking in the rest of the room.

Heavy curtains framed the large bay window overlooking the Faraday Ranch. The recliner and sofa, both flanked by matching side tables, faced a massive fireplace, as well as an impressive flat screen mounted above it. Art work and photographs filled the spaces on the wall around them and a lifetime of collected knickknacks adorned the mantle.

Izzy moved to the fireplace and knelt down to build a fire.

Sam started to offer help, but Izzy lifted her chin towards the adjacent corner of the room.

"Why don't you pick out some tunes? You can manage a record player, can't you?"

Turning ninety degrees, sure enough, Sam noticed for the first time the vintage record player resting on what looked to be an even more vintage radio frame. Behind it, the entire wall was built-in, floor to ceiling bookshelves. And they were full.

With nerdy excitement, Sam stepped closer to examine the titles. Nearly every book was dedicated to some aspect of the Occult or Paranormal. It wasn't the extensive library that Bobby had back in Sioux Falls, but Sam didn't see a single volume here Bobby owned a copy of. Was this why Bobby had called them in as extra hands? Could Isolde help him save Dean?

Feeling the equal measures of guilt and hope he'd become adept at in recent months, Sam's eyes moved across more of the titles, until reaching a two foot section that weren't books at all, but vinyl records.

"When Dean sees these he's going to lose his mind!" Sam mused as he flipped through the albums.

Izzy chuckled as she stood away from her burning masterpiece, dusting off her hands. "A fan of the classics I take it?"

Sam scoffed at the understatement. "My brother thinks anything recorded after '79 is sacrilege."

This time, they both laughed.

"Well, the CD stereo and albums are hidden inside the radio frame if you wanted to find something more current for a change of pace." She offered.

Sam briefly balked at the opportunity to select the music. The moment Dean and Bobby arrived, the "wrong choice" would immediately be met with Dean's gripes.

Seeing his hesitation, Izzy reminded, "My house, my rules. Tonight we'll listen to whatever you want."

Sam nodded to her with a grateful smile. Going back to the vinyls, Sam finally settled on "Completely Well" by B.B. King.

Impressed, Izzy nodded her silent approval as Sam prepped the record player. Soon the blues hummed throughout the aged walls of the first floor.

"How are your skills in the kitchen?" Izzy asked over her shoulder as she walked into the dining room.

"I manage." Sam answered as he fell into step behind her and got his first look at the room in question.

At first blush, it looked like a room frozen in time, sporting a fridge and gas stove straight out of the fifties. The wood of the cabinetry was unpainted but stained. Cast iron pans and copper pots hung over the small marble-topped island in the middle. On the bordering counters the more modern touches took over. The stainless steel basin of the sink spoke to the updated plumbing, as well as the dishwasher installed next to it. A microwave, coffee maker and toaster filled the counter stretching out overtop, rounding out the amenities.

"Have any particular cravings?" Izzy inquired. "I imagine you and your brother must be on the road a lot."

That guilt/hope sting returned briefly. How many home-cooked meals would Dean ever have again? It wasn't often Sam and Dean had access to a fully stocked kitchen. This Winchester planned to take full advantage.

"Honestly anything that hasn't been packed in styrofoam or frozen in plastic wrap sounds amazing." Sam confided.

Izzy smirked and reached for the fridge. "Deputy Harris gave me some fresh venison yesterday. I think I have everything we'll need to fix a stew."

The grin on Sam's face grew. "My mouth is watering already!"

~~~~


	4. Four

Back in their respective cars, Bobby once again led the way from the Canyon to Faraday Ranch.

Dean found the label of 'ranch' didn't hold much weight, at least not anymore. It didn't appear as though most of the structures that surrounded the farmhouse had been utilized in many years. Dean imagined if Izzy was the only person living out here, it would be nearly impossible to keep a ranch running as such.

The two-story house, on the other hand, was well cared for. It reminded Dean a little of that American Gothic painting. As he and Bobby stepped up onto the wrap-around porch, Dean grinned to himself when he noticed it came complete with a two-seater swing, on which a well fed grey tabby cat sat, glaring at them.

Though the windows full of light and thrumming music made it clear someone was home, Bobby went through the formality of knocking heavily on the front door. A moment later Izzy answered. She'd changed out of her department uniform into cut-off jeans and a tank top, and loosely covered that with a lengthy open knit sweater. Her fiery red hair was free from it's restraint and fell in soft waves across her shoulders. Straightaway, Dean was back to picturing Izzy using those handcuffs.

_Friggin' short-shorts._

This time, Izzy did greet Bobby with a warm hug. "Impeccable timing, Singer, as always. You must have a sixth sense about chow time."

"Actually I think it's the other way around. You always know when I could use some decent grub." Bobby retorted.

Izzy laughed and waved them both inside.

Dean had to admit to himself the place felt cozy right away. A fire blazed in the hearth and whatever Izzy had cooking smelled fantastic. He was a little conflicted about the music, as now Tom Petty's album "Wildflowers" was spinning on the turntable, but it wasn't the worst thing he could be listening to.

"Where's my brother?" He chose to ask, instead of commenting on the record.

Izzy bobbed her head towards the opposite side of the house. "Kitchen."

Headed where she indicated, Dean took notice of the four place settings on the dinning room table as he passed by, having no idea what a mass of chaos the room had been only an hour before.

Sam perched on a high-backed bar stool at the kitchen island, laptop open, dusty tome right next to it.

"Hey." Sam greeted simply, barely pulling his eyes away from his computer.

"Hey. You dig up the dirt on Skinwalkers?" Dean snooped over his brother's shoulder.

"Yeah. There are actually several different cryptids known by that title, but with Izzy's knowledge of local lore I was able to narrow it down."

"You come up with warlock too?" Dean pulled out his phone and showed Sam the photos.

Sam didn't seem all that surprised by any of the images, but he did have the twinkle in his eye he got whenever he was about to say—"Get this, these witches get the name Skinwalker from the use of actual animal skins in the spells they cast to transform. Whoever this warlock is, must have imbued a black bear's pelt with his dark magic."

With his heavy sigh, Dean failed to hide his frustration. "So we've figured out the how, but we still don't know who or why."

Izzy and Bobby shuffled into the kitchen as Dean griped.

"Bobby just finished telling me the Clearwaters were in a hurry to have you leave." Izzy sounded chastened. "The Navajo are somewhat superstitious about Skinwalkers. They believe even to speak of them is to invite the evil to find them."

"Is that what you were discussing over the walkie?" Sam asked.

"We were, and that the killer is more than likely Navajo. If he is, I've agreed to capture the Skinwalker alive and turn him over to Tribal Police."

Dean instantly hated the sound of that. "Are you frickin' serious?" He groused. "We're talking about a warlock!"

"We're talking about a _man_. A Navajo man, who will face justice from a council of fellow Navajo."

Sam couldn't help but chime in. "Dean, we still don't even know who the warlock is, or how to find him. You're assuming he'll even cross over the boundaries again."

"When do we ever get off that easy, Sammy? You think it's one and done with this guy?"

Sam huffed. "Truthfully, no. But—"

Dean turned his ire back on Izzy. "Why would you bother to ask us to come here, if you were just going to hamstring us by making that deal with Clearwater?"

If looks could kill, Izzy's would have sent him to hell early. "To be clear, I didn't ask you, I asked Bobby. He suggested you were best suited to handle the job. So far, he's been right about your brother, but I'm not so sure about you anymore." Stopping mid-rant, she looked like she wanted to keep on her trajectory. Instead, Izzy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slow, and met Dean's eyes again with an even blue gaze. "I've given Sam my security clearance to look into Newcastle's financials for any red flags. I'm going to sift through reports of recent animal attacks just in case something was missed the first time around. Bobby will do what he does best with my library." She turned and stepped over to the stove. "But first, we refuel. Maybe once the four of us are no longer hangry we'll know how the jock with the pretty green eyes contributes."

Dean fumed and had a few choice words picked out for the Undersheriff. But as Izzy turned back to bring the stewpot to the dinner table, she looked at Dean with an impish twinkle in her oceanic eyes that deflated him. What in the hell was going on with this hot and cold vibe? Dean looked to Sam, expecting his brother to be wondering the same, but Sammy was either oblivious or preoccupied with thoughts of food.

According to Dean's rumbling gut, maybe he was hangry, and damn if that stew didn't look and smell amazing.

_Eat now, argue later._

~~~~

After helping with the clean up—because that's what decent houseguests do—Dean tried to help Bobby with the book research. He made it nearly an hour before his eyes started to cross. Surrendering, Dean opted instead to raid the armoury in the Impala's trunk for anything and everything he thought they might need to deal with the warlock/bear. Setting himself up at the dining room table, Dean went about cleaning, sharpening and reloading his selections.

Lost in his work, Dean didn't notice Izzy approach until she placed a glass of whiskey in front of him. Her expression was apologetic.

"From the day my grandmother made this house a home, her first rule was to never allow negativity to gain its footing under her roof." Izzy smiled softly as she sat across from him. "I wasn't trying to cut you out, going to Clearwater. I'm a female Undersheriff in a male dominated workplace. I'm in the habit of making the calls because I cannot leave any doubts of who's in charge."

Seeing how petulant Buckley had been, Dean could understand. "It's your sandbox. Guess I needed the reminder." He returned her smile and picked up his glass, holding it out between them.

Izzy lightly clinked her own glass to his and they sipped in unison.

Silence fell over them briefly as they savoured the burn of the whiskey before Dean spoke again. "Do Dayton and his cousin know what they're doing? You trust 'em?"

Izzy smirked at something unspoken. "I've known them both since before ever becoming a cop. We were all taught at a young age that campfire ghost stories held at least a grain of truth."

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking past Izzy, as he remembered something Bobby said at the Canyon. "Was your dad part of the life?"

Izzy gave him a small nod. "And his father. Hell, Dad met my mother on a hunt!"

Dean had to laugh. "So you know a little something about the family business."

"Grandmother Faraday was a Navajo healer." She added nonchalantly.

"That explains you speaking Diné." He drawled.

Izzy took another swig of her whiskey, trying to hide her grin.

Looking slightly less than dead on his feet, Sam wandered in, laptop in his grasp. "Nothing I could find in Aaron Newcastle's financial records point to any dealings directly with the Navajo Nation, or even anyone living on the land. Same goes for Lydia. So far there's nothing standing out in Aaron's business contracts either."

"Aaron said as much himself." Izzy commented.

"Yeah, but there are plenty of ways to hide what you don't want authorities to find. I'll have to dig deeper."

"As Undersheriff, I'm going to pretend that I don't know what that means. Or that I ever heard you say it."

"Huh?" It took Sam a moment to catch up. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

Izzy moved on. "There hasn't been so much as a sighting of a bear within city limits for the last three months. I'd like to check further back but our report records have only been fully digital since June. I'll have to head over to the station in the morning." She glanced at her watch. "Or rather, four hours from now."

Dean glanced at his own, confirmation shining back at him. "Yeah we should all try to grab a couple hours sleep." He stood and headed across the short space into the living room. "Bobby, you find out how to track this thing?"

Bobby sat on the couch, hunched over the coffee table, several books splayed open around him. "Not exactly. So far the lore suggests a Skinwalker in animal form is recognized by it's glowing yellow eyes and possibly smells of rotting flesh. Also says they're attracted to fear."

"Like the horses being freaked out by the storm last night?" Izzy wondered out loud.

"No way it's as simple as Lydia being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dean refuted.

"I've still got plenty to sort through." Bobby gestured to his arrayed volumes.

"We all do." Izzy affirmed. "_After_ some shut eye."

Bobby collected his stack and shuffled up the stairs to the guest room with a gruff mumble of 'goodnights'.

Izzy's pleasantries were a little warmer before she followed suit to her own room.

Dean eyed the sofa greedily. "I call dibs."

Sam frowned and shook his head vehemently, holding out a fist in the palm of his other hand. There was only one way they were going to decide this.

_Crap._

~~~~

Soon enough, the alluring aroma of coffee lulled Sam back into consciousness. Dean's raucous snores however, were the last threads that pulled Sam's eyes open. He silently absorbed the sight of his older brother reclined in the weathered chair. As predicted, Dean's still socked feet dangled precariously over the edge of the footrest, sticking out from the bottom of the throw blanket Izzy had left out for him. The display reminded Sam of every gangly cartoon character from his childhood and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing out loud at the sight.

Opting to let Dean sleep awhile longer, Sam managed his approximation of tip-toeing out of the living room, headed for the kitchen and the bliss known as coffee.

Izzy was already in uniform, sipping a steaming mug and perusing one of the books Sam had left on the island counter.

"Morning." Sam greeted as he paused to stretch some of the kinks out of his long limbs.

"Morning." Izzy reciprocated, gesturing with her mug to where Sam could find one of his own to fill.

"Thanks. Oddly enough, being habitually sleep deprived doesn't get easier over time." Sam poured liberally, leaving no room for cream or sugar. "What are you reading?"

Izzy gave Sam a scrutinizing expression. "Funny you should ask." She pushed the book over so he could have a better look. "I was about to pose the same question."

Sam was confused only for as long as it took him to read a few words. The book was a volume on demons Sam had surreptitiously added to his stack last night, and it was open to a section referencing Crossroads Demons.

"It's not what you might think!" He blurted reflexively.

"I don't know, Sam, I can think of a lot of things." Izzy took a slow, generous sip of her coffee before saying the last thing Sam expected. "Does this have anything to do with that Devil's Trap in Wyoming four months ago?"

Sam nearly dropped his coffee as he splashed some of the scalding liquid on his hand. He set the mug back down to grab paper towels.

"How did you know about Wyoming?"

"Bobby filled me in a little." Izzy replied, watching his face carefully. "Sent me fair warning that a few hundred demons are roaming free topside." Izzy gave the book a meaningful glance. "You looking to make a deal with one of them, Sam?"

"No!" Sam answered immediately. "No. It's Dean…" He took a moment to decide how much he should explain to the Undersheriff. If there was any chance Izzy could help his brother, honesty was best. "I died. Dean made a deal to bring me back." Sam explained the deal and went further by telling her about Ruby, about what she was and what she'd promised. He even went as far as to add what Ruby'd led him to learn about his mother.

Izzy's eyebrows had jumped at the name Mary Campbell but she remained silent as Sam confided in her.

"I haven't told Dean Ruby's a demon yet."

This did make Izzy speak up. "Why not?"

"The moment he hears the word demon, he's going to shut me down."

"Well yeah," Izzy scoffed. "Demon."

"I'm not naïve, I know not to trust her. But that doesn't mean she can't be useful."

Izzy pulled the demon volume back to scan the open pages. "But still, you're hoping to find an answer without her." She inferred perceptively.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Well you're not going to find them in any of the volumes on those shelves, I can promise you. My grandfather's journals on the other hand…maybe."

Sam looked at Izzy with renewed hope. "You think?"

"I'll make you a deal of my own, Stretch. We get this warlock situation handled and I'll scour those journals myself. Even if Grandad never dealt with a Crossroads demon himself, he was sure to know a hunter who had. Might be there's something to learn there."

Sam held out his hand to shake on it and Izzy chuckled quietly as she accepted it.

"So where do you want to pick things up with our bear problem?" Sam asked.

Izzy opened her mouth to answer but the vibration of her phone against the counter forced a redirect.

"Faraday." Izzy's tone was curt.

Sam did his best not to eavesdrop by starting up his laptop, but as Izzy blurted a curse she drew back his full attention.

"When?" Izzy demanded of the person on the other end of the call. "Alright, I'm on my way."

Sam looked on with concern.

Guilt in her eyes, Izzy broke the news. "Our warlock went back to the Newcastle's to finish the job. Aaron's dead."

With a look, Sam offered her his sympathies. "We'll get this skinwalker, Izzy. It's only a matter of time."

"Before another body drops, Sam. That's the only amount of time we have." She took a steadying breath. "Okay. You get to doing that thing I'm pretending not to know about on your laptop. I'm going to tear the Newcastle's ranch apart if I have to."

Bobby appeared from the dinning room, looking surprisingly refreshed. "I'll wake up Sleeping Beauty and head back to the canyon." Apparently Singer had been eavesdropping himself. "Tracking this bastard will be easier in the light of day. If we're lucky he took the same escape route as before."

Izzy nodded. "I'll get a couple deputies started on back checking incident reports while I'm on scene." She narrowed her eyes at Bobby, then Sam. "All three of you better be careful."

"Back 'atcha, Iz." Bobby warned.

~~~~


	5. Five

Izzy pulled aside the first deputy she found at the Newcastle's—unfortunately for Buckley.

"I need you back at the station combing through records from every department. Animal Control, Ranger Station, 9-1-1. Call nosy old Mrs. Forsyth if you have to. Flag every report that could even remotely be this bear. If someone saw something with black fur in the last six months, I want to know about it!"

Ignoring his death glare, Izzy marched past Buckley and waved Deputy Harris to her side as she made her way inside the house.

"I want you working with Buckley, but first I need you to organize the other deputies into patrol teams. No one is to work alone, understand? We watch out for our civilians and each other."

Harris nodded firmly, but spoke further. "What about you, Ma'am?"

"I'm still working closely with our new federal agent friends." She assured Harris. "My six is well covered."

Harris left her and Izzy was left to absorb the new horror laid out in front of her. Red stained the foyer and much of the living room where Izzy last saw Aaron alive, mere hours ago. She had to take extra care with her footing as she moved deeper into the room.

The medical examiner, Dr. Patricia Stafford, knelt next to the shredded remains, scratching short hand notes into an on-scene report.

"What's it looking like, Patty?" Izzy asked of the doctor, unable to hide the distress in her voice.

"I can't say for sure until I get him on my table," Patricia cautioned, her own voice sympathetic. "But at first blush…the size of the teeth and claw marks…it looks like the same bear."

Izzy swallowed down the bile rising in her throat as she nodded. She could feel Patricia's discerning eyes on her while she fought to peel her own away from Aaron's body. Izzy couldn't shake the sense this could have been prevented.

"You're dwelling." The doctor admonished. "You're the Undersheriff, not a psychic. There's no way you could have foreseen a bear behaving like this."

_A bear, no. But a man with an agenda?_

~~~~

In the canyon once more, Dean and Bobby were growing more frustrated as the morning turned to afternoon and they found no fresh signs of the skinwalker.

They were nearly ready to give up when Sam called.

_"Newcastle's company absorbed another real estate developer's contracts about eight months ago. General Futures. It was a hostile takeover after the guy failed to obtain planning approvals from the city. At the time, there was a lawsuit pending against General, claiming priority rights. But it was dismissed and Newcastle got the land."_

"We need a name, Sammy." Dean prodded as he and Bobby traded irked glances over the speaker phone.

_"Right, sorry. The plaintiff's name was Spencer Kraft."_

"Kraft?"

The hunters spun on their heels to find Dayton and Marcus had found them once again.

"Know him?" Bobby asked, recovering from the surprise a little faster than Dean.

"Well enough to think him being the warlock makes sense." Marcus grumbled.

"We'd settle for well enough to know where he lives." Dean retorted.

"_Izzy won't be able to sign off on a search warrant_." Sam warned, still on speaker.

Dean eyed the cousins cautiously. "Do we need one?"

"No," Dayton answered with little hesitation. "We'll show you the way, and back you up."

~~~~

Kraft's rundown cottage was isolated a few miles out from Skinwalker Canyon. There wasn't much chance of neighbours witnessing their mid-day break-in, but Dean appreciated the presence of the cousins nonetheless. They might have insights Dean or Bobby could miss.

After a perimeter sweep, Dean picked the front door's lock with relative ease. Dust motes danced in the sparse light shining through the broken shutters and tattered, moth eaten curtains. Even with poor light, the interior wasn't difficult to search. Aside from a small bathroom, the house sported an open floor plan. At the top of narrow stairs a small loft held an unused twin bed. It did not appear as though Kraft had been here in some time.

Bobby briefly disappeared into the bathroom.

"The water's been shut off for awhile." He declared when he reappeared. "The toilet bowl and tank are empty."

Curious, Dean opened the refrigerator and instantly regretted it, gagging at the stench that wafted out.

"I don't think the electric company has been paid either." He choked, slamming the fridge door shut. "So what does this mean? You think this douchebag has been living as a frickin' bear for months?"

"Could be." Bobby mused. "Probably takes a lot of dark mojo to transform."

"Here!"

Dayton, after giving the loft a closer inspection, now returned with a mess of papers. "In case you needed further evidence Kraft is the Skinwalker."

Dean took the proffered stack, soon frowning as he realized he didn't understand the language written, with the exception of the name Newcastle popping up several times.

"What do these say?"

"Most of it seems to be angry ranting, but these—" Dayton yanked several pages out of the pile and moved them to the top. "These look like spells."

Dean mentally fought off the cringing sensation spreading across his shoulders.

_Frickin' witches._

Taking a moment to consider, he handed the papers back to Dayton. "You should keep these if you're going to make the sonofabitch stand trial or whatever."

Dayton, Marcus and Bobby stared back at Dean, perplexed. After all, what happened to just offing Kraft and being done with it?

Uncomfortable, Dean cleared his throat. "I think we're done here." He marched towards the front door, not having to look to know Bobby was smirking with silent laughter at his expense.

They were both back outside before realizing Marcus and Dayton weren't right behind them. When they both appeared again a moment later, Marcus was dousing a trail of lighter fluid on the floor, leading out the door and a few feet across the ground.

"Just what in the Holy Hell are you doing?" Bobby demanded.

"This property's been poisoned by Kraft's dark spellwork." Marcus pronounced. "It needs to be cleansed."

Without waiting for any protests—not that either hunter had any—Marcus fished a matchbook out of his pocket, struck one alight and lit the rest of the pack before tossing the whole bundle into the waiting river of butane.

The quartet watched the pyre grow for a few moments from a safe distance.

"We should head back to Izzy's and regroup." Dean suggested to Bobby. "If you folks need to reach us," Dean addressed the cousins and gestured to the rising flames. "You could always send up a smoke signal."

Marcus was incredulous. "Did you really just say that?"

To his credit, Dayton allowed a faint smile to cross his face before reaching for something in his pack.

Dean bristled for a second, fearing his poor joke had actually struck a nerve. But he relaxed as he watched Dayton removed a small sachet and toss it to Bobby.

"Something to help with the Skinwalker." He explained.

Bobby opened it to find some kind of dried root.

"In english, the name translates to 'Devil's Weed'. Izzy knows what to do with it." Dayton promised and he and his cousin waved curtly as Dean and Bobby took off.

~~~~

Izzy poured her eighth cup of coffee. It was double her record, never exceeding four in a single day before now. She'd read and reread the same sentence in Dr. Stafford's new autopsy report three times, the images of Aaron and Lydia Newcastle's remains flashing across her vision, pulling her focus.

Sam called earlier, to repeat everything already relayed to Bobby and his brother, and warn her of their intentions to search Kraft's home. The cop in her cringed at Sam's open admittance to criminal activity, but the hunter side won out, just relieved they had a name.

_Spencer Kraft._

Some time after Sam's call, Dean sent Izzy a text, confirming Sam's hunch. Now Izzy was left pondering why Kraft had gone to such lengths to kill the Newcastles…and whether or not anyone else was on his hit list.

"Ma'am?"

Izzy nearly dropped the sugar she was pouring at the sound of Harris' voice.

_Good thing it's spilling salt that's bad luck._

Harris flustered his apology as she hastily brushed stray granules into her hand and then the trash.

"It's fine. That'll teach me for using caffeine as a crutch. What is it, Harris?"

Her deputy gestured for her to follow him out into the bullpen.

A map of the county had been spread out over a rolling tack board, with over a dozen coloured push pins dotting the paper like a constellation.

"Going back six months as you ordered, I've mapped and colour coded the reports between definitive bear sightings, indeterminate animals and other." Harris pointed out each colour as he explained.

Buckley leaned against a nearby desk, arms crossed over his chest. Izzy had been dealing with this deputy's indignant bullshit long enough to know he was currently thinking two things. He thought Harris was brown-nosing and he himself was being under-utilized.

Sadly, Izzy hadn't the time to deal with it.

"Great work. Both of you." She offered placatingly instead.

She focused on the map in front of her, mainly on the placement of the bear sightings. They were concentrated north of the city limits. Maybe the Canyon wasn't his only path of retreat. Or maybe something else drew him there. Izzy zeroed her gaze to one cluster of push pins at a spot known as Founders Ridge.

"Harris, you got the hardcopy on these sightings?" She pointed to her focus.

"Yeah, sure." After a few seconds of shuffling folders, he handed Izzy the correct set.

She scanned the files quickly, one side of her mouth twitching up into a smirk as her theory proved accurate.

The beginnings of a plan seeding her thoughts, Izzy had to head home and regroup with Bobby and the Winchesters.

She quickly snapped a photo of the map with her cellphone. Over her shoulder, she dismissively offered praise for a job well done and ordered the two deputies to clock out early as she exited.

~~~~

Sam could only blink at the blur that was Izzy as she marched through her front door and took the flight of stairs two at a time to her second story.

He looked to Bobby and his brother for an explanation, but found their expressions as befuddled as he felt.

"I'd ask 'Where's the fire?', but we just came back from it." Dean quipped dryly.

The trio, sitting in the living room with arcane books in hand, didn't have long to wait for Izzy to reappear. In record time, she changed from her uniform into more hunter-esque attire.

"I know where we should start searching for Kraft." She pronounced, unfurling a map and spreading it out over the coffee table.

Showing them the photo of the map from the station on her phone, Izzy pointed to the corresponding points on the paper in front of them.

"The majority of bear sightings are concentrated here, in the woods north of city limits. I say we divide and conquer. Start a sweep at a perimeter and work our way inwards."

"No one should fly solo," Bobby injected. "We're still not sure which parts of the lore are fact and fiction. We go in two by two."

Everyone agreed.

Izzy moved to mount up, but Bobby stopped her. "Dayton wanted you to have this…'Devil's Weed'. Said you'd know what to do with it." He handed her the pouch and Izzy smirked.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Our Ace in the Hole." Izzy replied giddily. "I'll need a spare gun clip from each of you and a couple hours to prep."

Sam glanced at the time. "Looks like we'll be hunting in the dark."

"I'm sure that will work out well for us." Dean muttered.

"Does the jock need someone to hold his hand?" Izzy teased. "Don't worry, Dean. I've got plenty of fresh batteries for the flashlights."

To his credit, Dean walked away without comment, though Sam smirked at his back, imagining several things his older brother could have chosen.

"Can I help?" Sam offered the Undersheriff, referring to the arid plant.

Izzy shook her head. "It's best if I handle it. I'd recommend steering clear of my kitchen while I deal with it too."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "It's not going to explode or something, is it?"

Izzy laughed. "No, but the vapours when I boil it can be…heady."

Sam urged her to elaborate with a look.

"This plant can induce hallucinations if absorbed. Against a skinwalker, direct contact will hopefully separate the witch from the animal. At the very least a bad trip ought to disorient Kraft enough for us to take him down, bear or not."

~~~~

As promised, two hours later, Isolde returned their spare ammo clips, now loaded with dosed bullets. She also handed Bobby an extra duffel, it's contents a mystery to the three men.

"These are the _first_ resort." Was all she said before dialling up her policing authority. "Bobby you and Stretch start on the eastern edge of the perimeter. Green-Eyed Jock will drive the pair of us out to the west."

"He will?" Dean snapped in annoyance, getting fed up with the nickname.

Izzy stared Dean down, unflinching. "Out of the four of us, Bobby's the only other hunter familiar with the terrain. That leaves you and Sam splitting up and I lost the coin toss."

Dean tried to cover up the bruise to his ego. "I guess that makes us both losers."

"Time's a'wastin'" Bobby grumbled, shuffling out the front door.

As Izzy hefted a second duffle bag out to the Impala, Sam offered Dean a pitying shrug behind her back.

"She's officially off her rocker if she asks to drive." Dean griped in a hushed tone.

"We're all tired, and this case is on her home turf. She knew the victims." Sam reasoned quietly. "Try to cut her some slack and play nice." He clapped a hand against his big brother's back and left before Dean could respond.

Dean took a deep breath that did little to quell his aggravation and fell in line with the others. Izzy was placing her duffel in the Impala's backseat. Dean opened his mouth to suggest moving it into the trunk when Izzy turned to glare at him impatiently.

"Scoot yer boots! We've got a lot of ground to cover."

The knuckles of Dean's right hand went white around his car keys.

_Play nice, play nice, play nice…_

~~~~

Buckley watched intently from his hidden SUV as the foursome split up, wondering, not for the first time, what kind of feds drove in cars like that.

Trailing from a distance with his headlights turned off, he cursed in frustration when the two vehicles diverged in opposite directions.

After a heartbeat, Buckley chose to follow the Chevelle.

~~~~


	6. Six

Izzy directed Dean through the westernmost woods into a section that rose to a point called Founders Ridge. She took a beat to appreciate the sight of the barest hints of colour remaining from the rays of the now set sun.

"Park right over here, would you? I need to check something."

Once Dean set the Impala into park, Izzy reached for the radio tuner.

Dean frowned as she scanned through the stations. "What are you doing?"

"We could be here for a bit." She fiddled a little more, stopping when the opening bars of Theory of a Deadman's "Make Up Your Mind" hit her ears.

"Oh screw that!" Dean's hand shot out to the dial. He twisted past four country songs before finding Tom Petty's "Last Dance With Mary Jane".

Izzy inferred from his expression Dean wasn't entirely happy with the selection, but apparently it was better than her own.

"Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts—"

"You have issues surrendering control, don't you Dean?" The story of the elder Winchester's unwillingness to let Sam die crossed her mind's eye. Not giving him a chance to respond, she kept eye contact as she shifted and slipped into the backseats. "I want to show you my toys."

Dean blinked. "You…what?"

"The duffel. Come back here and I'll show you."

~~

Stubbornly, Dean took the long way, exiting out his door and climbing into the backseat behind the driver's side. "Is all this really necessary?"

Izzy chuckled openly. "Probably not, but thanks for indulging me." She lifted the duffel onto the seat between them and unzipped it to reveal two modified rifles.

"Since this has turned into a night hunt, I replaced the laser sights with night vision scopes. And they fire these." Izzy held up what looked like tranquilizer darts.

"Let me guess. Dosed with Devil's Weed, just like our bullets." Dean presumed.

"Got it in one. Nighty-night bear, hello busted warlock." She expertly loaded one of the rifles before handing it to Dean to examine further and proceeded to load the second.

"So we head east from here, sweep the spots marked on that map for any signs of the sonofabitch, hopefully get close enough to meet back up with Sam and Bobby before we take him down." Dean summarized.

But Izzy didn't seem to be paying attention, instead she'd set her rifle back down in the duffel and opened her window a crack. Dean stared as she then proceeded to repeat the process with his rifle and window, leaning over him to do so.

But when Dean expected her to lean back, Izzy instead moved closer and straddled his lap!

Dean was momentarily paralyzed as his brain misfired. He managed to jerk his hands up to Izzy's shoulders to hold her back from leaning in to kiss him.

"Whoa! What the hell is happening?!"

"Setting a bear trap." Izzy huffed, as if it should make perfect sense.

"Okay, I've heard my share of euphemisms, but that's a new one."

She rolled her eyes, responding curtly. "I was being literal."

It took Dean a minute to catch her drift. The idea being, bears could somehow be attracted by sex. "You know it's a myth, right?"

"Every myth has it's roots in some truth, Dean. In our line of work you know this. Besides, this isn't a regular black bear. Magic is naturally drawn to sexual energy. It's why people created so many urban legends and monster movies, pseudo-shaming pre-marital sex."

Dean frowned up at her, unconvinced.

Izzy rolled her eyes again, clearly not expecting his hesitation. "This ridge is an infamous lovers lane. The highest concentration of credible bear sightings came from this point. Now stop talking and start kissing, Clooney!"

"Hold on, you're photoshopping a mental picture over me?" Dean balked. "George Clooney? That's your fantasy?"

"Damn straight George C! The man is classic charm and I happen to like some salt and pepper on my meat." Dean groused at being considered a piece of meat, he knew it showed on his face. Izzy's amusement flared as she added, "Feel free to keep yours to yourself, just get your head in the game!"

Izzy leaned in again, slamming her lips against his.

Dean remained stalled only long enough to absorb the idea of a game. Well, if this was Izzy's game, Dean was sure as hell going to beat her at it!

Conjuring the image of Catherine Bach aka Daisy Duke, Dean lowered one hand to Izzy's hips, curled the other around the back of her neck and parted his lips for her eager tongue.

Taking the opening, Izzy snaked both arms behind Dean's head and pressed forward more firmly against his chest.

At first, Dean tried to multitask, listening out the windows for movement and timing the interlude by the songs crooning on the radio. But as they continued to indulge in each other like a pair of teenagers, and the windows began to fog over in the autumn night temperatures, Dean lost himself. Latently, he could tell Izzy was falling victim as well, her hips beginning to rock ardently in his lap. She let a soft moan escape her throat. Catherine Bach's face faded as Dean sparingly thought this was why Izzy wanted to pair off with him instead of Sam. Slowly the hand gripping Izzy's hip slid upwards, skimming under first her jacket, then the hem of her shirt. His fingertips started to dance across her heated bare skin—

Izzy went rigid against him, abruptly breaking their kiss.

"Stop." She rasped.

Dean immediately yanked both hands away. "Sorry—"

"_Shh_!" Izzy craned her neck to her left. "Did you hear that?" She whispered.

While Dean sat, rendered incapable of answering with any coherence, Izzy clamoured off of his lap and out of the Impala, pausing long enough to reach back in for one of the rifles.

"Come on!"

"I'm going to need a minute." Dean croaked to an empty space, surreptitiously readjusting his jeans.

~~

Focused on finding the source of the noise, Izzy didn't realize Dean wasn't right on her heels. High on adrenaline, the heavy footfalls rushing towards Izzy spurred her to spin and raise her arms to level the rifle—dead center at Dean's chest.

To his credit, Dean froze into a non-confrontational pose. "Holy sh—! Not a bear!"

Izzy pointed the gun to the ground. Anger meant for herself was redirected at the unfortunate hunter. "What are you doing so far behind me?!"

"I wasn't going to leave my baby unlocked with the windows down! There's a warlock on the loose!"

_His car? Typical male!_

"Dean, I almost shot you up with the mother-load of bad trips!" Izzy's voice quavered with the fading adrenaline.

"Almost. Thanks for not." After a deep breath, Dean's stance shifted to alert. "Any sign of Kraft?"

She gave her head a single shake. "Not certain yet. It's _something_ though. I think it might be an echo from further out, making it hard to tell either where or what."

Dean checked his phone. "No word from Sam or Bobby yet."

"Ask them to pick up the pace in our direction anyways." Izzy tightened her grasp on her rifle. "Can you smell that?"

Rolling his shoulders while he sent the text, Izzy imagined Dean was feeling the same skin-crawling sensation she was at that moment.

Dean nodded. It was the unfortunately familiar odour of decomposition. "Yeah. This whole Blair Witch vibe is starting to piss me off. Come on."

~~

Staying within sight of each other, the pair started their push eastward. Every few hundred feet they would sweep their surroundings with the night vision scopes.

At their fourth sweep Dean spotted something in the mud and silently beckoned Izzy over.

A trail of bare human footprints, the same size as the bloody print back in the stables, appeared fresh. Dean also noted the rotting stench was growing stronger.

Out of the blue, Izzy gasped and began to cough. At first Dean thought it was a reaction to the smell. It quickly became apparent Izzy was struggling to breathe, as she dropped her rifle to clutch at her own throat. Dean had no time to try to help as the painful sensation like a vice-grip crushing his chest overwhelmed him.

Both of them collapsing to their knees, Dean could taste the copper tang of blood at the back of his throat, even as he watched a thin red line ooze it's way out of the corner of Izzy's bluing lips.

Through the panic, Dean could see in the Undersheriff's eyes they both understood what was happening.

Futilely, Dean tried to rally the strength to hoist his rifle, but starbursts of light were impairing his vision.

"Dean!"

The older Winchester's crow of elation came out as wet coughs, as his brother and Bobby displayed their impeccable timing. However, it was costing them precious seconds as Sam tried to figure out what was wrong.

"H..hex…" Dean wheezed between squelching coughs.

"Hex bag!" Sam exclaimed, immediately reaching for his flashlight.

"It's got to be close by." Bobby hastily added his own light to the search, the faintest hint of fear in his voice.

Stubborn as anything, Dean did his best to look himself. Though everything seemed to grow dimmer, Dean realized Izzy had gone quiet beside him. He clumsily reached out for her and felt her prone body.

No…

"Iz…"

Dean's line of sight went completely black as he slipped under.

~~

Fighting back his panic, Sam caught a glimpse of a small hollow in a nearby tree. He launched himself towards it automatically, thrusting a hand into the narrow space and probing fervently.

His fingers brushed against the familiar feel of leather.

"Here!" Impulsively Sam dropped his flashlight to free that hand as he snatched up the hex bag with the other and nearly broke a finger yanking back.

Out of his back pocket, Sam retrieved a lighter. It was already open and lit by the time he lined it up under the bundle of dark mojo.

Waiting only long enough to be sure the flame took hold, Sam dropped the hex bag to the ground and rushed to his brother's aid. Bobby was already kneeled over Izzy's too still form.

"Dean! Hey!" Sam gripped his brother's shoulders, giving him a shake.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he shot up into a sitting position with a large gulp of air.

Sam relaxed slightly, but Izzy still had not recovered.

Bobby had two fingers at the pulse point on her neck, a deep frown shadowing his features.

"Come on Isolde." Sam heard the older hunter murmur.

He watched as Dean remembered he wasn't the only one effected, twisting around to check Izzy himself.

"Iz?"

A soft cough broke the stillness.

Sam washed over with relief, though Izzy's face scrunched with pain as she coughed a few more times a little harder and rolled onto her side.

_Too close._

"Dammit Iz." Dean tried to mask his relief with sarcasm, but wasn't fooling his little brother. "I thought we were on the same page about no one else dying." He proceeded to help ease her into sitting up.

Sam wondered when 'Izzy' had become 'Iz' as he stood.

"Well we're still here, aren't we?" Izzy offered Dean her most irritated expression before her eyes drifted first to the still burning hex bag then up to Sam's face.

"Thanks, Stretch." Izzy acknowledged, her voice rasping against the trauma to her throat.

Dean stood and gave Sam's arm a brusque bump. "Yeah, thanks for saving our bacon."

Sam merely nodded as they both helped Izzy to her feet.

_No chick flick moments._

Bobby eyed their surroundings. "Kraft must be—"

Before he could get the words out, a heavy growl reverberated through the trees and the bear charged.

~~~~


	7. Seven

The four hunters all attempted to either raise or reach for their rifles, but the massive bear was deceptively fast. He barrelled through them, snapping his jaws and swiping deadly clawed paws. Dean tackled Izzy back to the ground, shielding her from incurring a nasty gouge while taking the brunt of the attack on his own arm.

Sam dove, feeling the burning sting of a leg wound as Kraft swept by. Ignoring the pain, Sam checked next to him to find Bobby managed to avoid being scratched. However, the landing must have been a hard one. Bobby struggled to rise back up.

The bear roared, drawing Sam's attention.

A split second too late he recognized his error.

The lore about skinwalkers possessing a paralyzing stare were true.

Down on his hands and knees, Sam was frozen. Out of his peripheral vision he could distinguish unmoving human shapes on either side.

Sam tried to speak, to make Kraft see reason, but his voice was just as immobilized as his body.

Even in the form of a bear, Kraft was smug. As he closed the short distance between them, Kraft's steps were slow and deliberate.

Face to face with glowing yellow eyes, his heart still beat loudly. His lungs continued to fill with and expel air—though it was hard to appreciate when Sam couldn't turn away from the stench of rot that permeated from the bear's maw.

In the next moment, Kraft seemed to decide he was finished toying with them, pushing off his front paws to stand tall on his hind legs. The bear wound back to swing and Sam knew it would be aimed at his throat.

_Dean, I'm sorry…_

PHFFT!

It was the sound of pressurized air being released.

The bear made a sound, something like moaning in pain and fell back.

Sam stumbled as his range of motion returned.

Discerning the sound originated from Dean's position, Sam turned to thank him—only Dean stood awestruck as Izzy lay belly-flat like a sniper, tranq-rifle still levelled on the bear.

Sam glanced back at Kraft, down and breathing, but unmoving.

"How did you—?"

"The jock's tackle kept me out of Kraft's line of sight." Izzy explained as she safetied the rifle and rolled to her feet. "That's just like you men. Sitting on your asses, leaving the woman to clean up your mess."

Sam's smile was bemused. He thought he caught Dean smirking as well. Maybe it was just a trick of the moonlight.

"Well ain't this the damned cherry on a shit-sundae." Bobby drawled.

Now next to Kraft, Bobby used a foot to roll him from his crumbled front onto his back. Kraft was in fact Kraft. His human form. Naked from the waist up, Kraft had painted multiple archaic symbols on his chest that Sam recognized from some of their research. The bear skin, still topped by the black bear's head, draped over him like a cape and cowl, held in place by another pocket mirror strung to leather cord around his neck.

Kraft moaned and Izzy moved quickly, pulling a pair of handcuffs from her back pocket. Dean and Bobby heaved Kraft into a sitting position so Izzy could cuff Kraft's wrists behind his back.

Before she walked back to stand next to Sam she yanked the mirror away from the warlock's neck.

"Look familiar?" She asked rhetorically as she handed it to Sam. "It must be his scrying tool. That's how he drew out the power he needed to transform."

Sam dropped it to the ground, smashing the glass under the butt of his rifle. "Not anymore."

"Time to wake up, Dumbledouche." Dean barked. "We're not carrying your evil ass out of these woods."

Kraft eventually won the battle to pry open his own eyes. He groggily looked at each hunter in turn and proceeded to burst into manic giggles. He started to babble rapidly in Diné. Sam figured it was probably ranting brought on by the hallucinogens he was dosed with, but then he said something that got Izzy's full attention.

She spoke back to him sharply in Diné before switching to English. "Say that again, in English. Tell them why you killed the Newcastles."

Struggling to get the words out through his fit of giggles, Kraft sounded as if he might start to hyperventilate. "We need it back! Our people need the land for what's coming! It should have been ours by right!"

"Coming?" Dean pressed. "What's coming?"

"Hell's coming back. The door's already been opened once. It's only a matter of time now. We need to protect what's ours!"

Sam exchanged a guilty look with his brother.

Wyoming was having a helluva ripple effect.

True to his nature, Dean was quick to brush it off. "Enough of this crap. Let's get this nutsack back across the border and let his _peers_ deal with him."

After hoisting Kraft to his feet, fur cape and all, the hunters went about collecting the firearms and flashlights lost during the scuffle.

A gunshot boomed like a canon blast.

Kraft's chest blossomed with dark red as he collapsed once more. This time he wouldn't be getting back up.

Four guns pointed into the woods behind where Kraft had been standing.

"FBI! Show us your hands!" Dean bellowed into the darkness.

"It's me! Don't shoot!"

Sam didn't recognize the voice right away.

Izzy did.

"Buckley?!"

The deputy slinked out of the brush, both hands pointed at the sky, a hunting rifle clutched in one, and a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Balls! What are you doing out here?" Bobby growled.

"Saving your asses from a bear, apparently. Don't I get a thank you?"

"A thank you? You want a thank you? You just killed a MAN!" Dean snapped, pulling back the bear head so Buckley could plainly see the man's face.

"I didn't know."

Though he tried to feign shock in his tone, Sam could tell from Buckley's face he was unmoved. The deputy either knew or didn't care. More than likely both.

"Really? You couldn't see his hands cuffed behind his back?" Sam indicted.

"Drop the gun, Buckley." Izzy seethed, pointing her own rifle at the center of his face. It may only be loaded with her special tranqs, but Sam was betting Buckley didn't know that.

"What the hell, Faraday?" Buckley was indignant but he obeyed, holding his rifle out to Sam, who took it happily.

"Dean?" Izzy left the question unspoken but Dean understood.

"Yeah, I got him covered." He levelled his .45 on Buckley.

Izzy then proceeded to hand her rifle to Bobby, step around behind Buckley and pat him down. Satisfied, she removed the radio, handcuffs and badge clipped to the belt of his off duty clothing.

"Hands behind your back. I'm placing you under arrest for the wrongful death of Spencer Kraft." Izzy recited his Miranda Rights as she cuffed him.

"It'll never stick." Buckley asserted.

"We'll see." Izzy breathed before connecting with the sheriff's station over the radio. "We need CSUs about two miles due east of Founders Ridge. And contact Tribal Police to have a couple of their officers waiting for us at the station."

For the first time since showing up, Sam thought Buckley appeared uneasy.

_Karma's a real bitch._

~~~~


	8. Eight

Dean always slept better after closing a case. If better meant a solid five hours anyways. So he was more than a little surprised when he discovered he'd been out cold for eight straight hours the next morning.

His brother and Bobby looked equally refreshed as they coalesced in the farmhouse kitchen.

Izzy, however, still seemed a little ragged around the edges. Dean could tell she was doing her best to hide it behind smiles and light banter.

Dean wondered if she was really cut out for the hunter life. Then again, it was a benefit to hunters having law enforcement officials that understood the world as it truly was.

"So Buckley's going in front of the Tribal Court?" Sam was asking Izzy.

"Not exactly. He wasn't on Tribal land when he killed Kraft so that has to stay in front of the New Mexico state court." A tiny smirk quirked the corners of Izzy's mouth. "But Tribal Police and the Sheriff's department were a part of a joint investigation of Kraft, which Buckley technically interfered with. So the DA is allowing legal representation from the Navajo Nation to sit with the prosecution for his trial. They'll make sure the punishment fits the crime."

"Speaking of Kraft, did I overhear you tell your M.E. friend to release his body to the Clearwaters?" Bobby's eyebrow lifted with his curiosity.

Izzy nodded. "Just like you witnessed with his cabin, the Navajo will want to make sure his remains are cleansed of his dark magic and can't be used for evil again. I'm going to escort Dayton and Marcus out to the Founders Ridge crime scene once CSU clears out too. Just to be sure."

~~

Everyone fell silent for a few moments, only opening their mouths to sip their coffee.

Izzy's mind raced with thoughts. She wasn't sure she'd ever overcome her guilt for Aaron Newcastle's death. She wondered if she'd dealt with Buckley's insubordination differently, perhaps last night could have had another outcome. And then, there was Dean Winchester. The man could get under her skin like no one else, and yet, if she was honest with herself, George Clooney had stayed in her thoughts for all of thirty seconds in the backseat of that beastly car. She'd been perfectly aware of every point where their bodies connected and it felt as if she'd been saved from herself the moment she'd heard movement in the woods. Given her impressions of him, Dean wasn't likely the type of hunter to put down roots, not like her family before her. Not to mention, Dean Winchester lived on borrowed time. Any relationship could end in heartache if Dean couldn't be saved. But what the hell was she even thinking about a relationship for?! The flip side of that coin being, as drawn as Izzy was to him, as impulsive as she'd behaved last night, she really wasn't the type to indulge a one night stand…was she?

This morning she could feel every look Dean aimed her way and avoided eye contact as much as possible, willing her skin not to flush. She needed something, anything, to pull her focus away from those green eyes…

"Sam!" Blurting his name a little too loudly, Izzy tried to play it off as if she'd just remembered something. "I know you guys wanted head back to Sioux Falls soon, but there's something I wanted to show you. Upstairs."

"Uh, yeah. Okay. Lead the way."

Keeping her steps measured, so not to appear as if she was fleeing, Izzy brought Sam up to her bedroom.

Sam looked at her quizzically as she opened her curtains to better light the space. It was only when she gestured to the opposite wall that Sam's expression changed.

A near mirror image of the shelf design down in her living room, this wall was filled end to end with leather bound books.

"My grandfather's journals." Izzy elaborated.

"All of them?" Astonishment hitched Sam's voice.

"Yeah. As you can see, I have a lot to sift through. Not only did he chronicle his hunts, he wrote about obscure lore he crossed in his travels, my father's travels and even recorded my grandmother's traditional Navajo rites and remedies. But you have my word, if I find anything useful to breaking Dean's deal, you're my first call."

Izzy saw the flare of guilt on Sam's face as he said, "Maybe I should stick around for a few days. Help you look."

"Sam you can't hang around here for a 'maybe'. There are other people you and Dean could be helping." Studying his face further, she added. "I hate to come across as a broken record, but you can't avoid telling your brother about Ruby forever. Best to just rip that band-aid. Oh! Speaking of, how's the leg?"

Sam glanced down at the spot his bandages were hidden by his jeans. "It's great! Your first aid skills are on point."

Izzy shrugged nonchalantly. "Well I had the medical examiner teach me a few stitches."

"That explains why they're shaped as a 'Y'!"

Izzy blew a raspberry at him but they both laughed.

"I'll make you another deal." Sam offered. "I'll talk to my brother, just as soon as you hash out whatever has you avoiding eye contact with him."

Izzy narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. "Anyone ever tell you, you're too smart for your own good sometimes?"

~~~~

They were burning daylight as morning was about to turn into afternoon. It was time to hit the road.

Dean stood outside on the porch, that same old cat back on the swing, staring at him as he ran through his mental checklist to be sure he'd put everything back in it's place in the trunk of the Impala.

Sam emerged from the house with his things and carried them over to Bobby's Chevelle.

Dean frowned. "Hey!" He called out to his brother. "Did I miss something?"

Sam shrugged. "Just thought I'd ride as far as Lincoln with Bobby. You don't mind, do you?"

"Course he don't." Bobby answered for Dean as he passed by.

Although Dean didn't have any particular issue with it, he still thought it was a little strange.

"Dean?"

Dean turned, wondering why Izzy's voice seemed uncertain.

"Can you stay back for a few minutes? I…should double check that bandage on your arm."

Dean turned back to Bobby and his brother, finding them trying and failing to hide their grins. The two already went through the sentimental goodbyes with Izzy a few moments before and now Dean understood why.

He followed Izzy back into the house as the Chevelle revved up and pulled away.

"My arm is fine, Iz." Dean pronounced as he gave Isolde his best sympathetic eyes. "You don't need to check it."

"I don't," Izzy admitted. "I wanted to talk to you."

_Bingo_.

"I know what you're going to say," Dean assured her. "and at first I didn't get it, but I do now."

Izzy blinked in surprise. "You…do?"

"Sure. It's just one of those things. We'll figure it out together."

Relief filled Izzy's eyes. "I'm glad to hear you say that! I wasn't sure you'd be on board with the idea."

"Absolutely. Let's go for it!" Dean closed the distance between them and turned up the charm. "So would you like to take this upstairs…or maybe you'd rather return to the backseat?"

He leaned down anticipating an enthusiastic kiss—instead, Izzy yelped and shoved Dean back.

"Dean?! No! What exactly is it you're talking about?"

"I thought you wanted to finish what we started last night!" Dean answered quickly, feeling a flush of embarrassment rising on the back of his neck. "What the hell did you think we were talking about?"

"Well not _that_!"

They stared at each other dumbfounded…and both erupted into awkward snickering.

After calming down, Izzy was the first to speak.

"Geez, bait an evil magical bear by making out one time and you automatically think I want to sleep with you?"

Dean's mouth pulled into a lopsided grin, appreciative of the ease in tension. "Think they make a bumper sticker for that?"

"Eh, maybe. Definitely a meme." Izzy's face became oddly solemn. "Dean, listen…keep in mind he was trying to help," She took a sharp breath before finishing. "Sam told me about your Crossroads deal."

Dean dropped his smile as he surmised where Izzy's train of thought led.

_Here comes the "You're a nice guy, but…" speech._

He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, okay, I get the rest. I'm as good as dead and you're not into necrophilia."

Izzy puffed an exasperated sigh. "No, listen to me! What I was going to say is, I want to help." Izzy explained her grandfather's journals.

Dean was skeptical and expressed as much. "I can't try to welch on my deal, I won't risk my brother's life for that."

"Technically _you_ aren't. I am." Izzy winked.

"That isn't—"

Izzy stopped his dispute with the kiss he tried to give her a moment ago. It sure didn't feel to Dean like Iz had no interest in sleeping with him.

"The jock needs to get back into the game." Izzy teased when she finally broke away. "And this cop needs to get back to work."

_Right. We both have work to do. For however long we have left to do it._

Dean nodded slowly, backing up to the door once again. "See you around, Iz."

Izzy followed him as far as the steps to her porch.

"Happy hunting, Dean Winchester." He heard her murmur as he walked to his Baby.

Pulling away down the long driveway, Dean spared a final look in his rearview mirror, watching Izzy watch him, and allowed himself a fleeting hope she'd find a way to save him from hell, so that they might see each other again.

~~~~

**_END OF THE ROAD?_**


End file.
